


take your place with me

by bareunloveliness



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bareunloveliness/pseuds/bareunloveliness
Summary: A Choose-Your-Own Adventure featuring at least 20 choices and 10 endings. Based mainly on the choice of whether or not Marius goes to the barricade. Starting at Lamarque's funeral. POV 2nd Person Omnipotent, you read as Patria.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 1





	take your place with me

**Author's Note:**

> I have. 37 chapters planned. Some of them will be like, copy and pasted and very similar, but like, bare with me. I also only have the options where Marius is NOT at the barricade planned, so uh, when you get to that choice, at this point, you'll have to pick Marius doesn't go to the barricade. Some choices will be basically "Do you want to go Book Canon or Musical Canon?" including the first one, and some choices, you won't have. Some things are inevitable and based on the characters.  
> I have never written something like this.

Righteous anger fuels the four men sitting around the table into such a state of uproar that they do not notice you. You lean against the doorway, watching them prepare to leave for a funeral. They drink coffee, silent and stoic, in mourning. Your husband has passed. Your soul is broken and these young men want to put it back together. They cannot do this.

Enjolras, who sits at the head of the table, looks forward with glazed eyes. He is calculating and cold, watching barricades rise in his head. He does not see them fall. His blonde hair is secured loosely at the nap of his neck, and he wears his red Robespierre waistcoat with undeserved pride.

On his right sits Courfeyrac, a steadfast man who hardly drank his coffee. He drummed long, dark fingers against the table and looked across the table at him, trying to read the face of his best friend. 

Combeferre wore glasses on top of his hooked nose, and an expressionless visage. If he appeared worried, he knew that Courfeyrac would fall victim to panic. He had already drained his cup.

And finally, across from Enjolras sat Feuilly, the only man at this gathering with a less than proper coat, a pale orange that did not flatter his sallow skin. He sipped slowly, glancing between the leaders, and feeling as if he did not quite belong there. Like he was intruding on a revolution that was being fought for him.

You stand above them, always a force to fight for and with, but quiet. 

Their agitated trance is broken by a man in another room, just waking after a troublesome night, entering fully dressed in the previous night's closed. His name was Marius, and he was in mourning as well, but for the love that slipped between his fingers. "Good morning," he said, although it wasn't.

"Are you coming to the funeral of General Lamarque?" Courfeyrac, the other man who lived in these rooms asked him. Marius did not respond- he had not yet decided. You had not yet swayed his mind firmly in either direction, although now was not the time to do so either. Let him rest.

And the four of them went, marched to the Rude de la Chanvrerie..

Meanwhile, you are everywhere and nowhere, but in this particular instant, you are at a bar called Corinth, a rallying place for Courfeyrac and his friends. Only, they are absent. Instead, three men split three bottles of wine rather unevenly. 

Grantaire sat at the head table, eyes not yet glazed but dark and heavy. He owned a red Robespierre coat, but dawned the complementary emerald with a purpose. He had enough ferocious curls on his head to account for the fact the man on his left was bald.

His name was Bossuet, and he had maybe a class of Grantaire's wine. He was well aware of what the day would bring, and was simply waiting on the sign to welcome it with courage and horror.

Finally, Joly drank just enough to appease Grantaire, leaving him about two of the bottles for himself. Joly sneezed- what an unfortunate day to have a cold.

The men chatted amicably and aimlessly- neither Joly nor Bossuet dared to mention the days events. They figured that Grantaire would not handle it well if he had remembered. They let him drink and they let him convince them to join him.

Grantaire was ranting about nothing and everything when a boy appeared through the doorway. A friend of Gavroche, who could have been your son. 

"The tall blonde man told me to tell you a message, Bossuet." he said, referring to Enjolras, who was actively disrupting a funeral procession. "A. B. C." And with that, he left.

"The underdog," Bossuet commented, knowing that Grantaire was prepared to start a riot of his own. "Lamaraque's burial."

"Who could the handsome blonde man possibly be?" Grantaire snarled. "I'm staying here. Better a breakfast table than a hearse."

He seemed set in his ways, in his path. You can change that if you'd like.

"We can skip the funeral and join the revolution," Bossuet said, preparing to pay for their measly breakfast.

"I care little about your revolution," Grantaire continued. "I don't abominate this government."

"Grantaire-"

"Shut up, Joly. Enjolras despises me." His gaiety and wit inspired by drink had done what it often does to those who worship it, and brought him quickly into a state of despair. "Why do you think he set the child to Bossuet? He considered that Joly is sick and Grantaire, the pathetic cynic, is drunk. You know, I would have joined the revolution if he asked me himself. I would be on the barricade in a heartbeat. To hell with him. I will not attend his fucking funeral."

It was the shorter of Grantaire's speeches, especially considering the admiration he felt for that particular subject, but there was a choice to be made. Not for him, but for you.

Bossuet and Joly had left him to help build the barricade, only a street away on the Rue de la Chanvrerie. Grantaire sat alone, eyes wandering amongst the collection of liquor. He considered making a concoction; wine, dark beer, and absinthe. Surely that would keep him under, not forcing him to consider his place in the world and lack thereof, and to not force him to see Enjolras die.

He closed his eyes sharply, fighting back pain. He did not want to see Enjolras die. The moment that Lamarque's death was announced, the color had drained from Grantaire's face. There was no way that Enjolras would survive- no matter the choices anyone made from then on out, Grantaire knew that his other half would be gone forever.

He looked at the bar. 

He looked at you.

"Do I dream?"

OPTIONS:

  1. No, Grantaire does not drink an obscene amount of alcohol.
  2. Yes, Grantaire should mix and drink three different kinds of alcohol.



**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is @winterwindsings and my tumblr is @bareunloveliness uhhhh thanks!


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